


I Made This Whole World Shine for You

by ORiley42



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff of all kinds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Foggy cares for someone else and one time someone cares for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Made This Whole World Shine for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWickedWitchOfTheNorthEast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWickedWitchOfTheNorthEast/gifts).



> My prompt was for a 5+1 fic with five times Foggy has cared for someone else and one time someone has cared for him.  
> It’s super fluffy and a bit cheesy – hope you like it! :D  
> (PS: The fic title is from the Smallville theme song)

  1. Candace



“Hey there, germface, how ya feeling?” Foggy asked, perching on the edge of the living room couch, careful not to jostle his little sister where she lay sniffling pitifully. He had a test tomorrow, the kind that actually mattered now that it was his senior year of high school, and he hadn’t even pretended to crack open a textbook yet. But, he’d nonetheless dutifully reported to play nursemaid when his overworked mother called to say she’d taken a late shift at work and needed him to take care of his flu-stricken little sis.

Candace Nelson groaned and shoved her face into the pile of pillows propping her up, flinging her little arms dramatically over her head. “I’m _dying_!” she moaned, the noise muffled by both the pillows and her stuffy nose. “I wanna watch my sick movie.”

“Your _what_?” Foggy laughed.

“My sick movie, dumdum, the movie I watch when I’m sick,” Candace explained, as if he was the eight year old, and not her.

“Oh, _right_ ,” Foggy nodded as he remembered when she’d been laid out with a nasty ear infection a few months back, and had watched some Disney movie about horses approximately a thousand times during her convalescence. He wasn’t aware the film had been graduated to “sick movie” level, but then, things were changing with his little sister faster than he could keep track of.

He flicked through their small VHS tape collection until he found the tattered case he was looking for. “Uh, _Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron_?” He waved the tape in Candace’s direction. She nodded imperiously and stuck out a hand to point at the TV, “Play it,” she demanded.

Foggy acquiesced graciously, popping the tape in the player and hitting play. As the opening monologue began to play over the animated fields and foals, Foggy made to leave, but was stopped by his sister’s wide-eyed gaze.

“Aren’t you gonna stay and watch with me?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and pleading.

Foggy opened his mouth to say ‘no, sorry, I have to go and study,’ but he couldn’t make the words come out. Not when Candace was looking at him like that with her tragic little pout, and not when he knew that in a few short months, he’d be off to college and who knew when he’d get to see her next – and how much she’d have changed when he finally did.

So, he settled down on the floor and leaned back against the couch, where Candace let out a pleased sort of cough and burrowed deeper into her nest of blankets.

Screw the exam. He had more important things to do.

 

  1. Marci



Foggy was almost out the door when Marci’s name flashed up on his cell screen accompanied by a shrill ring. He considered ignoring it, especially since their last conversation had actually been more of a shouting match, their relationship a thing of the past and even their friendship coming into question as Marci began a clear descent into the hellscape of corporate law.

But, he found himself flipping his phone open anyway, barely even getting a “hello?” out before Marci started talking. “Foggy? Foggyyyyy, Foggy-bear, is that you?”

“Yup,” Foggy sighed, letting his bag drop from his shoulder. Marci sounded utterly plastered, and it was barely past eight…it looked like he was going to be cancelling his plans.

Ten minutes later, Foggy was knocking on the door of Marci’s apartment, which swung open wildly a second later to reveal the woman herself, looking even more terrifying that usual, due to the slightly mad glint in her eye and the mostly-empty bottle of vodka she had clutched in her perfectly manicured hands.

“You’re here,” she stated coolly, giving him a swift once-over as if to confirm that it was, indeed, him.

“I am,” he agreed.

“Well. Come in then, already.”

Foggy had barely scooted past her before she was slamming the door shut with far more venom that the poor thing deserved.

He started to ask, “So, what’s –”

“– It was that _fucking Dana_ ,” Marci cut him off, her voice too loud for the small room. “She stole that fucking internship, right out from under my fucking nose, that fucking _weasel-bitch_ …”

“Ah,” Foggy nodded wisely, recalling Marci going to interview after interview in hopes of getting an internship with some big name company that had, apparently, opted instead to go with a weasel-bitch named Dana.

Foggy gently steered his highly intoxicated friend over to the sofa, where she collapsed with a huff.

“Fuck Dana!” Marci shouted in lieu of a toast, downing a swig of the vodka and then handing it up to Foggy.

“Fuck Dana,” Foggy agreed kindly, taking the proffered bottle and setting it aside, safely out of Marci’s reach.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Marci made a weak grab in the direction of the alcohol, but couldn’t seem to get back on her feet.

“I think you’ve had enough for now,” Foggy pushed her back down gently, before settling himself next to her.

“Ugh, you’re such a _bore_ ,” Marci sneered, “I’d _forgotten_.”

Foggy didn’t rise to the bait, far too learned in the ways of Marci to think that being called a bore even registered on her scale of real insults. “I am pretty boring. Which raises the question: why did you call me?”

“No reason,” Marci’s eyes darted away from his. “Just wanted some company.”

Foggy started to smile at the implications of actual human emotion in that sentence. “Yeah? Maybe you wanted someone who you could talk to? About your _feelings_?”

“I don’t have _feelings_ , Fog,” Marci quickly corrected him, her tone regaining its usual imperious lilt. “I just figured it’s not like _you_ would have anything better to do.”

“Actually,” Foggy sighed a little wistfully, “I was going to go to the pool with Matt. But, naturally, I chose instead to come here for some rousing verbal abuse and charming drunken antics.”

“You ditched on _Matt_?” Marci’s eyes bugged out a little, like even the mere thought of such a thing shocked her. “ _You_ ditched on a _pool date_ with _Matt_?”

“Uh, a little. And it’s not like it was a _date_ , I was only going at the last minute, it was some of his classmates from that torts seminar who asked him to go to the pool in the first place. He’s not really into swimming, but there’s a _girl_ in the class that he’s chasing, so, you know...” Foggy shrugged and sagged back into the couch cushions. “I’m sure he’ll be plenty entertained without me.”

Marci waved off the majority of his statement with a grand swoop of her hand. “No, okay, so… lemme get this straight. You passed up seeing Matt Murdock _dripping wet_ and _mostly naked_ to be here with… me?”

“Uhhh…” Foggy raised an eyebrow. “That’s a sort of colorful way to put it but, yeah, Marci. No matter what happened between us, you’re still my friend, and you needed me.”

Marci was silent for a moment, before declaring, “You, Foggy Nelson, are an idiot.”

Foggy rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree.

“However…” Marci crossed her legs and examined her nails, pointedly _not_ looking at Foggy as she admitted, “you are a _nice_ sort of idiot.”

And Foggy grinned, because coming from Marci, that was some damn high praise.

 

  1. Karen



“Thank you so much for doing this, Foggy, it really means a lot.”

“Hey, no problem, Karen,” Foggy tapped his wrench on the leaky pipe he’d just repaired and, satisfied with the job, scooted back out from under the sink. “Family helps each other out, and you’re part of the Nelson and Murdock family now. Our small, completely broke, but very attractive family.”

“Very attractive,” Karen agreed with a laugh. “And talented,” she gestured to the newly-fixed sink, “and well-connected,” she waved at her freshly painted living room wall. “Your cousin who does dry-wall did a great job. And the carpet guy too…” Karen’s smile faded as her eyes settled on ground, where Foggy imagined the blood-soaked body of Daniel Fisher had lain only a few weeks before.

“Hey,” Foggy reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, turning her away from those gory memories. “If you want home repairs, I’m your man. It’s what I slaved through seven years of grueling education and went into stifling debt for…” Foggy tapped his chin in an exaggerated parody of thoughtfulness, “oh, wait…”

Karen laughed, the noise warm and light, before pulling Foggy into a hug. Foggy returned the embrace happily, leaning into the soft swells of her golden hair. She smelled like something nice, cinnamon or vanilla or one of those baking scents that Foggy had always associated with being warm and safe – Matt would probably be able to identify the whole bouquet, down to the individual molecules.

As if she’d caught onto his train of thought, Karen murmured against Foggy’s shoulder, “You know, Matt’s really lucky.”

“Hmm?”

“He’s really lucky to have a friend as good as you.”

“Well, he’s a good friend too,” Foggy replied, silently tacking on an ‘except for when he does crazy vigilante things and bleeds everywhere.’ “We were lucky to find each other. And we were lucky to find _you_.”

“Aww,” Karen giggled lightly, “Well, I’m glad you found me, too. And not just because you got me off a murder charge! But really,” her voice got soft as she continued, “I’m glad you two patched things up.”

Foggy gave her a squeeze as he smiled and nodded and agreed, his heart empty of regret for perhaps the first time since he’d dragged that wretched mask off of his bleeding best friend’s face. “Yeah, I’m glad too.”

 

  1. Brett



Brett swung open his door, took one look at the man standing outside, and groaned.

“I'm gonna _kill_ my mom,” he swore.

“Then you'd have to arrest yourself!” Foggy replied cheerfully, bustling past him. “I can defend you though, at a very fair price.”

“I ain't on enough narcotics to deal with a concentrated dose of you, Nelson,” Brett warned as Foggy took his arm and started leading him gently back towards his bed, where he’d been grumpily recuperating from an on-the-job injury for the last two days.

“I see the promotion to detective has done nothing to better your manners,” Foggy responded lightly, dumping Brett back on the tangled pile of sheets he’d just extricated himself from.

“I’ll show _you_ manners…” Brett grumbled, reluctantly shuffling back underneath his covers, “What are you even doing here?”

“What do you think? You got _shot_ , Brett. You shouldn’t even be out of bed.”

“It was in the shoulder, it’s not a big deal. And I wouldn’t have _had_ to be out of bed, if _you_ hadn’t shown up on my doorstep.”

Foggy looked contrite at that, but brightened a moment later, holding out a round plastic container and exclaiming, “But I brought you soup!”

“Dear God, no,” Brett cringed away, pulling the covers up as if to protect himself.

“What?” Foggy pressed his offering closer to Brett, who retreated to the far corner of his bed. “I make great soup!”

“Yeah, it’s _great_ ,” Brett deadpanned, “it’s multi-purposed – it could also serve as _rat poison_.”

“Okay, you seem way too lucid to be deserving of the door-to-bed service I’m so graciously providing here.”

“Trust me, I wish I wasn’t so lucid.”

Brett really did look truly miserable, and Foggy’s features melted into something very close to honest sympathy.

“Well, it might interest you to know that since I was not given sufficient notice about your injury to prepare this soup myself, I actually just bought it from a deli.”

At that, Brett relented and accepted the soup with a grunt of thanks, peeling off the top of the container and sniffing interestedly at the contents.

“But for the record,” Foggy continued as Brett started to sip at the warm broth, “my soup has improved greatly since the last time you experienced it. Matt likes it, anyway, even if your heathen tongue can’t appreciate it.”

“Foggy, you could feed that man cement mix and he’d say he _loved_ it, as long as it was from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brett gave him a swift, if bleary-eyed, once over, and then sighed deeply. “Never mind. It’s just the pain meds talking.”

Foggy shrugged and kicked back in the armchair jammed into the corner of Brett’s cramped bedroom. “Whatever, Mahoney-baloney.”

“Ok, first, we’re not in diapers anymore so you don’t get to call me that, and second…what they hell do you think you’re doing?” Brett gestured at Foggy, who didn’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon.

“I’m getting comfortable. Because I promised your mother that I would not only deliver soup to her indisposed son, but ensure the consumption of said soup, and then proceed to keep the soup-recipient company, until such time as seems appropriate.”

Brett paused for a moment, letting his narcotics-filled brain plow through that tangled mess of words to finally arrive to their meaning. “So…you’re saying you aren’t leaving.”

“Indeed, I am not. Not until you’ve stopped being a hazard to your own health by doing crazy things like answering doors and accepting soup from your nemesis.”

“Please, Nelson,” Brett scoffed, settling back against his pillows, “if I had a nemesis, it would be someone much cooler than you.”

“Et tu, Brett? I’m _wounded_ ,” Foggy clapped a hand over his heart in mock distress.

“You’re not, really, but if it’s a wound you want, I can help you…”

Brett wouldn’t say it out loud, but having his old not-friend there to trade barbs with and distract him from his aching shoulder was actually not the worst thing in the world. In fact, as Foggy laughed and began to spin a ludicrous tale of legal adventure, Brett reflected that he might go so far as to say it was actually…pretty okay.

 

  1. Matt



Foggy should have known that their first reconciliation after Matt dropped the man-in-the-mask bombshell had been too easy. Foggy had stomped off, drank a lot, screwed around with Marci, and then fell right back into Matt’s orbit…without actually doing those necessary things like having a real, rational conversation about how he felt about Matt’s nighttime activities, and how those activities were going to impact their nascent law firm, not to mention their friendship.

So, he really should have known that the second time around, with all of that crap that had been dug up in the beginning having festered and simmered under the surface for months, it would be a more world-shattering kind of event. And boy, _was it_. Not just because of the shouting and the shoving, but because when it was over, Foggy realized that he could be okay without Matt. He could go, and get a new job, and live a life that wasn’t built around his best friend, and be honest-to-god _just fine_.

And Foggy felt better, freer, knowing that he was a whole unto himself – but he also realized that just because he _could_ live without Matt didn’t mean he _had_ to, or that he really _wanted_ to.

So, when Matt’s shy knock came at his door one day, he opened it without hesitation and welcomed his best friend back into his life.

“Matt,” he’d began, “You’re my oldest and best buddy, and I want to believe that we can build something new here – and that’s important, that it’s _new_ , that we don’t fall into old, broken patterns – but it’s going to take time. And change, and compromise, and _honesty_.”

Matt nodded, face drawn as he listened closely.

“Honesty is a _must_ ,” Foggy continued, “And I don’t just mean, ‘tell Foggy I got in a fight _after_ I come back missing half my face,’ I mean ‘tell Foggy I’m _going_ to go out and fight, and may need my face repaired upon my return.”

Matt huffed out a surprised little laugh, the first visible crack in his emotional armor, and Foggy smiled, relieved to see that his old friend really was still in there.

“I’m not asking you to make any promises you can’t keep,” Foggy added, “I know that you need to do what you do, and honestly, the city needs you to do it to. I’m just asking you to think about _how_ you do it, and maybe, take a break sometimes. Let Spider-Man get in on some of the action.”

Matt’s lips turned up in a real smile at that.

“Or the Hulk!” Foggy went on, “That guy definitely needs an outlet for his anger. Or Tony Stark, I think that guy could make enough terrible decisions to fill even _your_ quota…” Foggy trailed off, wondering if that was too far, if it was way too soon to start poking fun at such a sensitive topic. But, Matt’s smile hadn’t faded, if anything, it brightened as he reached over to gently lay his hand over Foggy’s.

“I will _always_ make terrible decisions, Foggy, but the least I can do is make sure they affect _you_ minimally.”

Foggy sighed, and squeezed Matt’s hand. “I can live with that. As long as you let _me_ take care of _you_ , Matty. Not nag you, or control you, just _be there_ for you.”

“I could really use a friend,” Matt agreed. “And not just any friend, I do need _you_ , Foggy. I’ve always needed you.”

Foggy tried not to notice how his heartrate ramped up at those words, as if he ignored it enough Matt wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“Honestly, Matt,” Foggy tried to inject a joking note back into the conversation, “you look like you need a _lot_ of things – about a month’s vacation, three days sleep, a good hot meal, probably a shower, definitely a hug…”

“I don’t know about the rest, but… I think I really do need that hug.”

And that was…wow. Matt Murdock, actually _asking_ for something he needed, with only minor prompting. Foggy spared a moment to wonder if Jupiter was aligned with Mars or some other cosmic event that could have led to a miracle like this, before he reached out and pulled Matt into the biggest, warmest, tightest hug of his life.

When it got to the point that Foggy’s back started to complain from the awkward angle of the embrace, he finally relented and pulled away, but not before he planted a firm kiss on Matt’s forehead.

When he leaned back, however, he noticed with another skip of his heart that Matt was blushing. Actually _blushing_ , a lovely rosy color that Foggy couldn’t remember seeing since college.

“Is it something I said, buddy?” Foggy asked lightly, patting Matt’s cheek.

“Uh, just...honesty. You said, uh, _honesty_ ,” Matt muttered, seeming to be talking more to himself than to Foggy.

“Um…yes?” Foggy offered tentatively.

“Honestly, Foggy,” Matt visibly set his shoulders before finishing his sentence in a rush: “I would really like to kiss you.”

“Oh.” That was…something far beyond unexpected. Foggy wondered if this was what getting hit with a bus felt like. “You meant… _honesty_.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Oh!” Foggy jumped, as he realized that Matt was probably waiting for some kind of response. “ _Yeah_! Yes! Yes to the, uh…”

“Oh!” Matt jumped a little too, before the smallest, softest sort of smile quirked up at the corner of his mouth, and then he was leaning closer and pulling Foggy into possibly the most ridiculously long-awaited kiss in the history of the world.

They broke apart a moment later, (far too soon in Foggy’s estimation) and Foggy caught a glimpse of Matt’s eyes darting around nervously behind his glasses.

“Too much honesty?” Matt asked, cautious.

“No, nope,” Foggy shook his head vigorously, “I think that was just the right amount of honesty.”

“Good, good. And, I mean…” Matt’s growing smile took on an amused lilt, “you did say that we needed to build something… _new_.”

“Oh, _Matt_ ,” Foggy threw a hand over his eyes in mock shame, “who have you been spending time with that _that’s_ the best line you could come up with?”

“Maybe that wasn’t my best line, maybe I’m saving those for _later_.”

“Please stop,” Foggy pressed two fingers to Matt’s lips, “that gorgeous mouth of yours should not be sullied by such tacky come-ons.”

“Oh,” Matt leered, “do you have some _better_ ideas of what I could do with my mouth?”

Foggy groaned, grabbed Matt by the lapels, and hauled him in for another kiss because, apparently, that was the only proper way to shut the man up and save him from himself.

 

+1. Foggy

A month later, Foggy was throwing his bag down in the hall of Matt’s apartment and wrinkling his nose at the acrid scent of burnt food permeating the whole space.

“Don’t try to tell me that’s Cajun, Matt,” Foggy warned as he rounded the corner into the kitchen and witnessed the blackened remains of what was probably once a chicken.

“It’s Cajun, Foggy,” Matt stated blandly, looking rather faint.

Foggy put his hands on his hips as he inspected the scene, from the sad, inedible remains of the poor bird, to Matt’s distinctly guilty expression. “Matt, how did _you_ not smell this burning?”

“I…might have…stepped out for a minute.”

“Stepped out?” Foggy moved closer, his tone turning dangerous.

“Uh…just for a minute. A second,” Matt insisted, trying to slide away, but Foggy grabbed the counter on either side of him, trapping him between his arms. He stared Matt down, waiting for him to break.

It only took a second before Matt cracked, confessing. “Ok, I heard this guy pull a gun on the owner of a liquor store on the corner of fiftieth and main, and I…I _had_ to go, Foggy.”

“So, you sacrificed our dinner to a random thug?”

“No, I sacrificed our dinner to a random thug’s _victim_.”

Well, damn, Foggy couldn’t really argue with Matt when he had his puppy dog eyes out in force like he did now. And justice on his side, besides. Foggy let his head fall to his chest, sighing deeply. Finally, he looked back up, and declared, “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Matt grinned widely and moved in for a kiss. Foggy put up a token defense, before letting Matt wrap his arms around his waist and pull him close. “I’m just plain lucky,” Matt murmured against his lips.

“True,” Foggy agreed, leaning in to capture that perfect red mouth.

Only a few moments later Matt pulled back, a familiar crease deepening between his brows as he clearly geared up to say something.

“I know I’m not good at…being there,” he finally managed to say, haltingly. “For other people. For you. I’m not really good at…being good.”

Foggy made a dissenting noise, but Matt powered on, “But I swear, I will figure out how to be good for you because you deserve just _so goddamn much_ , Foggy, and I can’t…” Matt stuttered to a stop, sucking in a deep breath. “I _can_ promise that l will take care of you, to the best of my ability, so help me God.”

Foggy blinked for a moment, reeling slightly before he replied, “Wow. Buddy. Did the chicken disaster bring this on? Because, in that case, you should burn our food more often.”

“It’s just _you_ , Foggy,” Matt insisted, shoving him lightly for the tease, though his expression remained open and earnest, “you make me say stupid things and want to just…give you _everything_.”

“Everything, huh?” Foggy raised an eyebrow, “Well, I think we both can agree your cooking is, shall we say, _subpar_. Nor are you particularly good at household chores. I know better than anyone that you’re poor as dirt. So what, exactly, are you offering?”

“Um. Well. Sex?”

“I’ll take it.”

Foggy leaned in to resume their kiss from before, and Matt laughed against his mouth, “What, right _now_?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going to eat dinner,” Foggy pointed out.

“Fair,” Matt agreed, his hands already sliding down Foggy’s chest to tug at the buttons of his shirt. “How about we order in some Chinese after?” he murmured from where he’d started to press warm kisses down Foggy’s neck, “My treat?”

“Deal,” Foggy agreed, hopping onto the bed and grinning as Matt followed, tackling him down against the mattress.

“It’s a good thing you’re so low maintenance,” Matt commented, nibbling gently at Foggy’s collarbone.

“Honestly, lazy sex and some greasy chow mein are all I need. And, you know, your undying love wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, that much,” Matt pressed a soft kiss right above Foggy’s heart, “I _can_ give you.”


End file.
